


A Short Holiday

by apliddell



Series: Irrational and Sentimental [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Honeymoon, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Smut, M/M, Rim job, sex holiday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5957254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wow!!!!!!!!! What a day!!!!!! That was the best wedding ever!!!!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Short Holiday

Sherlock slumped onto my shoulder, and his giggle and his warm breath tickled my ear, “Honeymoon suite. Take me in, and have your way with me, John. It’s time. We’ve only had sex once today, and that isn’t honeymoon standard.”

I laughed, “I’m trying! Let me open the door,” I patted my pockets.

Sherlock plunged a hand into my jacket and plucked out our room key, “Here you are, John. Quite quickly, please.” He leaned more heavily against my side and gave me a smacking kiss on the cheek.

I struggled to unlock and open the door with Sherlock’s warm, heavy, gently swaying torso draped over me, “You are so pissed my love.”

Sherlock whipped off his coat as we entered and dropped it on the floor, then flopped onto the bed and began to unbutton his shirt, “But here I am, safe and sound, ferried in the arms of my beloved.” He hummed through his nose for a moment, then began to sing, “‘I’ve made it through the wilderness; somehow I’ve made it through..’”

“Hey!” I threw my coat on the floor as well and flopped onto the bed next to Sherlock, “I thought you didn’t know Madonna!”

Sherlock rolled toward me and lay half on top of me, giggling, “We aren’t personally acquainted yet, but I’m sure she’s dying to meet me. Just like the queen.” He kissed me rather sloppily.

“Actually it’s me the queen wants to meet. And you said before you didn’t know who she was.”

“John,” Sherlock bit my ear, “Why are you talking about popstars instead of kissing me? Your new husband. Who deserves kisses. Every kiss you’ve got. I want them all.” He punctuated each sentence with a nip at my ear, and it made me squirm.

“I’ll kiss you, love. I’ll give you all my kisses, only I don’t want to interrupt you when you’re trying to be funny. Sometimes it makes you cross.”

“Cross? What? Me? I’m never cross, and I’m always funny. Shhh!” Sherlock shimmied his shirt off and began worrying at mine, “You ought to be kiss-” I interrupted him with a kiss, as he seemed to want one very much. Sherlock scrabbled ineffectually at my shirt and caught my thigh between his so he could rub against me. I stroked his back, and he hummed until I could feel his voice in my own mouth.

We drew back to finish undressing, and Sherlock caught me round the waist and dragged me back to him as soon as my clothes were off, “Mmm John,” he nuzzled at my neck and stroked my chest, “You’re so warm.”

“About normal temperature, I think,” I rubbed his hair.

“Let me marvel over you, John.” Sherlock leaned down to pull the blankets up to our chin, then planted himself against my chest again, “It’s the least you can do, if you’re going to insist on being so marvellous.”

“My body temperature is marvellous now, is it?” I drummed lightly on his back, which set him humming again.

“Among other things,” Sherlock yawned and shut his eyes.

“Are you sleeping now, love?”

“Your fault,” Sherlock yawned a bit bigger. “You’re all warm and cuddly and you smell lovely. You’re going to have to ravish me in the morning.”

“All right, gorgeous. I’ll ravish you in the morning.”

Sherlock kissed my chest, “Good night husband.”

I kissed his hair and hugged him a little closer, “Good night, husband.”

...

 

Honeymoon

Sherlock here. Writing you all from our top secret honeymoon location. John and I have agreed not to name it at least until after we’ve returned. John has actually even threatened to post photos when we get back, but I shall try and protect you from out of focus pictures of scenery, buildings, and food John finds interesting. Socialising may not be my strong suit, but I know better than to subject innocent(ish)(somewhat) people to holiday photos.

My husband John Watson and I will be out of reach for a bit whilst we enjoy ourselves. There’ll be another post announcing our return, whenever that may be. Do try not to be too interesting in our absence. I’m sure it won’t be a stretch. Either way, we will be doing absolutely no snooping until after we return.

As you may have gathered from the foregoing, John Watson and I were married in the first, last, and only ever perfect wedding this past Saturday. Our thanks to the people who were present to help us celebrate and to wish us luck. Particularly my brother Mycroft, who was responsible for arranging most of it. And as I know he wouldn’t deign to comment on our little website whatever I say about him, I would like to assure you all that he is very affable and accommodating. With some, anyway. Security reasons, I suppose!

Anyway, John seems to be waking up, so I’m going to go and enjoy my marriage. Just as soon as he’s rolled off my arm. Or possibly slightly before that. New era. Lots to do.

Good morning.

Sherlock Holmes

Consulting Detective and Groom

Comments (25)

John Watson:  
I like the arm. Maybe I’ll keep it.

 

Sherlock Holmes:  
It’s yours.

 

John Watson:  
Lovely. Are we getting up?

 

Sherlock Holmes:  
I’ve ordered breakfast sent up, actually. Let’s stay where we are.

 

John Watson:  
I can definitely do that.

 

Molly Hooper:  
It’s really mean of you to post this on a Tuesday morning.

 

Molly Hooper:  
And what do you mean “innocentish somewhat”?

 

Sherlock Holmes:  
Would you like me to make a list? Are you inviting me to start with you?

 

Molly Hooper:  
Go on, then.

 

John Watson:  
All right, let’s not lose our heads.

 

Janine Hawkins:  
When are you posting photos? I need them for my portfolio!

 

Sherlock Holmes:  
It’ll be a bit until they come back from the photographer, but we won’t post many here; that’s certain.

 

John Watson:  
You really didn’t fix us up, Janine.

 

Janine Hawkins:  
I did, though. Back me up, Sherl. I really put the hours in, didn’t I?

 

Sherlock Holmes:  
No comment.

 

Mrs Hudson:  
Congratulations! How do you feel? Any different?

 

Sherlock Holmes:  
Relieved.

 

John Watson:  
Yeah, me too! Light.

 

Sherlock Holmes:  
What a charming coincidence.

 

John Watson:  
Well, like you said. Lots to do.

 

Sherlock Holmes:  
Indeed. Doubt we’ll post again while we’re away. Goodbye everyone. Be good. And if you can’t be good, be boring.

 

Mike Stamford:  
Congratulations! The wedding was beautiful! We had a wonderful time.

 

theimprobableone:  
it’s so prosaic to honeymoon. i hope you at least went somewhere useful.

 

G Lestrade:  
I wish you wouldn’t sound so wistful about people committing crimes.

 

Molly Hooper:  
I think you’ve missed them.

 

…

“I lied about breakfast,” Sherlock murmured, nuzzling down my jaw to my neck.

“Oh?” I grazed my fingertips down his spine to the small of his back.

Sherlock shivered, “I haven’t had it sent up. Only I thought you’d rather I didn’t say that we should log off so we could have sex.”

“Hmmm,” I rubbed him a bit harder and considered with a finger held sherlockishly to my chin, “Are you sure you actually want sex? Because last night you said you were gagging for it, then as soon as you’d got your kit off, you went straight to sleep.”

“Are you trying to make me beg, John?”

I got hold of a handful of his hair and pulled til he shivered, “When do I ever make you do things you don’t want to do?”

Sherlock hummed and leaned into my hand, “Mmmmmm, who suggested that?”

I laughed, “Fair point. Tell me what you want, Sherlock, so that I can give it to you.”

Sherlock buried his face against my neck and fell silent until I tugged his hair again, “I want to be subject to your imagination, John.”

“Well,” I kissed his hair, “I think I can manage that.”

…

 

“Comfy?” John asks, reaching under me to fluff the tower of cushions I’m propped facedown on. His fingers brush the edge of my erection and linger there as he waits for me to answer. I nod, and John gives my backside a light slap, “Out loud, please.”

Wet my lips and swallow, “Perfectly comfortable, John, thank you.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” John plumps my cushions a bit more and delivers another light slap, for the mere pleasure of contact, apparently (how flattering). Tingles. Try not to squirm. Squirm a bit. The bed trembles under us as John draws closer and bumps my knees farther apart. He strokes my back, “All I want is to show you a good time. Do you know that, Sherlock?”

“Yes, John.” I can feel my John’s gaze on me as much as I can feel the circular path of his warm, soft hand. John shifts his hand to hold my hip, then leans forward and kisses the small of my back. His lips are moist, slightly chapped. His breath is hot.

He sighs, “You are gorgeous, do you know? I love you.” He kisses me again. I want to answer. Can’t. I sigh. John pets my back and down my hip, “That’s it, lovely. Just relax. I’m going to take nice care of you, aren’t I? My beautiful, gorgeous husband. My perfect darling.”

I nod, then manage, “Yes, John” as he draws breath to request it.

John laughs low and speeds his hand on my hip. Then the bedsprings moan as John lowers himself onto his front beside me to drop teasing, biting, sucking kisses on my skin. My face hots. I feel flush all over, and I wonder if my skin is warming under his mouth. Bite my lip (too early to whimper, probably).

John nips at me, then leans forward and reaches out in front of me to hold out his index finger, “Suck this for me please, gorgeous.” Obey at once, leaning back toward John, trying to check if he’s as hard as I am. He is, as it turns out. John leans into me to press his erection briefly against my hip, then pops his finger out of my mouth and lowers my hips with his other hand pressed to the small of my back. “Ready, love?” I nod and wag my hips, hoping John won’t make me speak aloud before he’ll give me what I want. 

Fortunately, my John is merciful (or as eager as I am). I can feel his eyes on me again. A tingle of anticipation in my skin like hair being brushed against the grain. He sighs. Strokes my hip, then dabs his warm, wet fingertip against my arsehole. Moan, shiver, wriggle, pressing first out against him, then down into my cushion tower. “That’s it, gorgeous,” John strokes my back, and his voice is as soft and loving against me as the hand he rests on me. “So beautiful. That’s good, Sherlock?”

“Yes, John!” Wish I had something to muffle myself with. My voice is raspy and high already. John doesn’t want me to muffle, though. He likes to hear every quaver and crack.

“That’s good, Sherlock. Beautiful, love.” He dribbles a runway of saliva and presses his fingertip into me, then the bed shivers, sighs, squeaks as John shuffles about to replace his finger with his tongue. I jolt and grunt, rocking forward into my pile of cushions, then back against John’s mouth. My skin hums with his soft laughter, and he holds me tighter, down and open. John licks me slowly, insistently, and I squirm under him.

My voice is running away from me, and my face burns hotter every time John’s sweet voice husks, _Yeah?_ against my skin in answer to my cries. John slips one hand down to stroke each of my trembling thighs in turn, then reaches up to fondle and squeeze my scrotum. I whimper and shake under him, and when John turns his head suddenly to nip at my skin, I come with a little scream, thrusting hard into my cushion tower.

John pushes himself up and strokes my hair, grazes his fingertips along my back, waking gooseflesh behind them, “Gorgeous, Sherlock. That was amazing.” I can only groan in answer, arching up into his touch, then sagging down on my tower. John laughs (delicious rasp in his voice)(I want to eat it)(eat it?? afterglow nonsense). He rubs my hip, tugs it,

“Let’s get you turned over, so I can see that lovely face, mm?” Flop off the cushion tower onto my back at once, and John settles onto the bed next to me. His lips are swollen and shining with saliva. He looks so smug of me that I rather want to laugh. Kiss him instead, and he hums his pleased surprise into my mouth (he never expects kisses after that sort of thing)(in principle, I understand but he ought to know me better by now).

“How do you want to finish, John?” I ask when I’ve got him kissed.

“Slow down a moment, love.” John draws me towards him and holds me against his chest, “Get your breath back first.” John dances his fingertips in a new patch of freckles on my shoulder and pets at my chest hair. “No rush. We’ve got all day, mm? ‘Swhat a honeymoon is for, right? Lazy shagging.”

“Lazy! I’m not la-” Am unfortunately interrupted here by an enormous yawn. John smiles but is gracious enough not to laugh, “I’m not making you wait that long, John.”

John kisses my hair, “You’re not making me do anything, my lovely. Only I like to watch you come down, and I intend to, if you’ll let me.”

“Just as you like, John.” Tuck my head under his chin and shut my eyes, “But I’ll have you know that I’m far too clever to be deferred indefinitely.”

John chuckles, “Oh believe me, I’ve noticed.”

Yawn again (eyes water)(falling asleep)(bugger),“I’m going to look after you extremely thoroughly, John Watson, and there isn’t anything you can do to stop me.”

“You always have done, lovely. I promise I won’t try and stop you.”

“You’ve got me at your disposal for orgasms and any other husbandly services you can name, John.”

There is something primally soothing about the watery thump of John’s heart in my ear and the rise and fall of his fragrant, sweat-damp chest under me, and I’m nearly too far gone into sleep to hear his murmured reply, “I know, my love. I know, I know.”

…

“So,” Sherlock raised his violin to his shoulder, “I expect you know what this is all about.”

I settled into one of the hotel room armchairs to make myself a proper audience, “Music? That’s what it usually means when you’ve got your violin out. Unless it’s actually about chasing Mycroft out of the flat. But he isn’t here at the moment, so it can’t be that.”

“Firstly, John,” Sherlock wagged his bow at me, “Have the goodness not to mention my brother when I am trying to be romantic. It puts me off.”

I laughed, “My apologies.”

“No lasting harm done to the mood, I believe.”

“I’m ready to forget it, if you are.”

“Indeed. Secondly, don’t be facile, John.”

I grinned and chinned my hand, “We’re back to the romantic bit, are we?”

Sherlock pressed on, having decided not to notice that remark, “We are under a mutual, if largely silent, agreement to, ah. Not to mention the, ah. The time you made me wear a tie.”

“That’s a very diplomatic euphemism,” I said, hoping my smile didn’t look too false.

“I’m glad you’re pleased with it, John. Anyway. I made you a song for that night as well, but,” Sherlock paused and cocked his head. “I’ve not had quite as long to work on this one, since our engagement was rather short, as these things go. Don't postpone joy and that. But. I.” He looked down for a moment and when he met my eye again, his face was very soft, “It is heartfelt. I hope you will be pleased with it as much as you were with the first.”

My eyes pricked and I quite wanted to kiss him at that, but I didn’t like to interrupt him, “I love everything you do for me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock glanced away and cleared his throat, and when he raised his bow again, his eyes were very bright. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I know.” He cleared his throat, “This is ‘A Bigger Adventure’ from Sherlock Holmes to John Watson, in celebration of their. Of our marriage.” And he began to play.


End file.
